


We Were Rivals

by WritingYay



Series: He's a mess, but he's mine [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Politics, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Angst, Elections, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Google did the politics, Hatred, I'm British, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Rivals, Stress, Swearing, conferences, secrecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: The thing is, Steve Rogers was an asshole. Tony needed to stop telling people that, though.The 2018 Presidency run would forever go down in history as the one where-Well... let's just say it all went a little bit wrong.





	We Were Rivals

\+ Ten weeks

It was a tale as old as time.

That was what Tony Stark kept telling people when they asked about the story, but after one memorable comment from a five year old, he had cut the Beauty and the Beast crap and instead settled on a better opening.

They were The Avengers vs The Associates and they helped create the best Presidential run in history. 

Howard Stark was a failed scientist and sometimes (when he wasn’t too proud to say it) engineer who worked for a large weaponry company called HYDRA for something close to thirty years. Tony spent his childhood in aguish and in fear of what mood Howard was going to come home in- depending on who had listened to him that day and how critical they were. He’d always understood the strategy and need behind politics and campaigning, an interest that Howard had tried to beat out of him more than once.

So, when Howard was dead at the hands of angry clients and Tony had run far enough from home to build himself a new personality, there was only logical thing to do.

Found The Avengers.

The political party name had started as a joke but swiftly became the fastest growing and easiest identifiable composition in the world. They thrashed opposition and absolutely hammered most critics until the Presidency was literally within reaching distance.

When Tony met Steve Rogers, he was in the final stages of building The Associates: a rival political party to bury Tony in a shallow grave. Steve Rogers was an asshole. Funnily enough, that was the one thing Tony wanted most people to remember. 

Tony had acquired the nickname ‘Iron Man’ thanks to his quick and witty comebacks against opposition leaders, namely a Mr Steve Rogers. Social media campaigns had been created with the hashtag ‘#IronManPresident’ which generated off-the-scale support from younger generations. Steve, on the other hand, was commonly referred to as ‘Captain America’ or just Cap, due to his frequent promises about patriotism and keeping the country safe from war. That was Tony’s fault in all fairness; he had snapped at Steve one PR event and had yelled the nickname at his enemy across an art gallery and it just stuck. He couldn’t help being an ironic genius. 

“Okay, the details for the November Conference have just been finalised.” Pepper shatters Tony’s daydream loudly as she stalks into his sprawling glass office; her hands laden with clipboards and folders. Tony groans and leans back in his chair.

“Oh god, the ten week mark already?”

Pepper looks up pointedly but luckily smiles, her hair cascading down the shoulders of her LBD in waterfalls of colour.

“Don’t even pretend that you can’t be bothered for this, apparently it’s all you’ve talked about to Bruce for the last twelve years.”

Tony had fluctuating opinions on the tight friendship between his ex-girlfriend and one of his oldest friends, Dr Bruce Banner. More often than not, he cursed the day they ever met, but this thought only ever crossed his mind when they were plotting interventions to get him to willingly sleep.

“You sound like Nat,” Tony chuckles and stands up to join his campaign manager at the back wall which was actually just glass. New York thrummed beneath them as millions of sources of Midas light glinted in the reflection of the window. The view would be missed when Tony would have to move to the White House; the chaotic nervous system of the planet that was his city had served him well since birth. “She tells me every day that if I’m happy, I should let my face know.”

His right-hand woman turns with a sigh to throw the files onto Tony’s oak desk. “She’s your PR coordinator, honey. It’s her job to care how you come across.”

Tony snorts. “I come across better than him.” He gestures flippantly at the turbulent view, obviously indirectly talking about Steve.

“50% of the time, yes you do.” Pepper agrees gently, fondness dripping through her voice as she strokes Tony’s jaw with one finger. He can’t help but send his eyebrows to his temples.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

“I bet he’s not as difficult as you to manage professionally.” She giggles and Tony smacks his hands to his hips in mock horror.

“What about personally?”

Pepper bites her lip suggestively. “I’m sure he’s a dream.”

Tony scoffs profusely and pushes Pepper away from his space gently. “Whatever, get out of here. I bet your husband is running you a bath and stuffing mushrooms as we speak.”

“We live in hope.” She nods solemnly and goes to check that all the files Tony required were present on his desk to flick through. 

A plane rumbles overhead, lowering closer and closer to the clouds as it gets ready to kick people off at JFK. Dusk settles over the city, marring the skyscrapers with an orange tinge.

“I hate this window.” Tony voices aloud and Pepper rolls her eyes, her heels clacking on the marble floor as she makes her escape. “I hate seeing his building and knowing he’s concocting a plan to bring me down.”

Associates Tower loomed forebodingly directly across the street from Avengers HQ. When Steve had marched into Tony’s office one day, rudely awoken him from his nap and slammed his architect’s plans to build his own political kingdom right over the street, Tony had wanted to laugh. After he had studied the plans and realised the structure would be taller and bigger than his own, he had wanted to cry and immediately phoned his contractors to give them a bollocking.

Nat had found it hilarious. Peter didn’t understand why he was constantly given strongly worded letters to deliver to Dr Banner every week. The nuclear physicist often had to be Tony’s psychiatrist even though he was reminded that, “Tony, I don’t have the qualifications to do this, no don’t drink that… Tony-!”

“…at 7 o’clock sharp at the Strike Conference Centre in Queens ten weeks from now and…” Tony filters in long enough to catch the end of Pepper’s shouted information from her private office.

“Yeah, just put it in an email for me, hun.” He calls back and winces at the sound of heavy folders being slammed on a wooden desk that signified Pepper’s annoyance. Sometimes, he wonders what his life would’ve been like if he and Pepper had lasted the storms. How different it would be, what his career would be like, if he would be President by now or not… They certainly would’ve been a formidable husband and wife team and certainly the most powerful couple in the country, maybe even the world-

He’s interrupted by the sound of an incoming email to his personal account so heavily drops into his chair with a groan to study the ten documents Pepper had sent him with a middle finger emoji as an explanation.

Each Word document was filled to the brim with intricate campaign plans and PR comments that Nat had clearly liaised with Pepper to make sure Tony knew everything. His eyes skipped over the data tables and statistics, knowing he would learn those the week before as back up. Instead, his attention turned to the summary of the conference event: Friday 2nd November 2018, exactly four days before the election. The day when ten years of hard work would pay off; Tony knew he would be the next President, he couldn’t afford to think any differently.

Nat and Pepper’s detailed notes explained how Tony would try and prove Steve’s incompetence by pushing him to admit that he had little interest in being President and actually was focused on only strengthening the country’s stability in a competitive world. They were clutching at straws as Tony was highly aware that his rival would make a fucking good President and it scared him. Tony was brash, egotistical, generally difficult and childish; Steve was charming, genuine, attractive and trustworthy. He was everything Tony wasn’t, and it was terrifying.

Tony clenches his jaw and slams the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, dates and strategy plans whirling into luminescent spots in his vision.

Peter knocks on the glass and sticks his head round the door to frown at Tony. “You okay, sir? Can I get you anything?” His chestnut eyes gaze sympathetically at his boss when Tony yanks his eyes open and his heart seizes. 

“You’re alright, kid.” Tony tells him through a frustrated groan, Peter rolling his eyes and leaning against the silver doorframe with his hip cockily.

“Mr Stark…”

“Honestly, kiddo.” Tony cuts in with a forced smile and nods stiffly. “I’m alright.”

Peter shrugs. “Okay,” he pulls his hoodie further over his wrists. “By the way, Steve phoned me earlier when you were with Pepper because your phone was off. Do you want me to tell him you’ll call him back when you’re done here?”

“No.” Tony grumbles and rests his chin on his fist. “Tell him to fuck off.”

Peter chuckles and salutes at Tony cheekily as he leaves. “I will do, sir. I’ll quote you.”

“Please do! It will piss him off more!” Tony calls after his protégé with a genuine smile. He liked the kid, could appreciate his young mind. Peter was the product of a political campaign he had done with a few local schools in New York to give science opportunities to less fortunate kids. It was definitely one of his more successful ventures, and had given him Peter, so he cherished it in his heart as a highlight. 

He worked solidly for a few more hours, taking in as much of the notes as he had brain space for and poured over the latest exit polls which normally started to give popularity indications about now. Eventually he got bored so scrolled through the #IronManPresident twitter hashtag on his laptop for a laugh when his phone rang, just as he finished retweeting James Corden.

“You’re working late.” The smarmy voice on the other end of the phone murmurs as a greeting, the voice slipping down Tony’s spine like honey.

“Am I?” Tony replies absent-mindedly and simultaneously crams another plastic folder into a drawer already overflowing with documents. 

“It’s gone two, Tony.” Steve tells him, his voice edging on exasperation. Tony looks up and out of his glass office in confusion, only just noticing that Pepper’s office was empty and all the lights were off.

“Oh, I didn’t notice it was that late,” he sniffs and rises from the chair, his knees creaking, to grab his car keys. “I’ve been silently screwing you over for the last eight hours by organising the campaign for the conference.”

Steve laughs. “I don’t doubt that.” Tony shoves his confidential files into their state-of-the-art safe and grabs his laptop under his arm to lock his office as Steve continues: “Peter delivered your message by the way.”

“Yeah?” The lights click off in a jagged pattern. “Quoted?”

“…‘tell him to fuck off’? Tony Stark through and through.”

Tony’s lips quirk up into a pleased smile.

“You know me too well.”

They talk about the logistics of the upcoming conference pleasantly as Tony jogs down to his car, being careful not to give away specific details of their independent plans.

“Anyway, er, I need to go to London tonight for a couple of days so-” Steve mutters and Tony starts his ignition with a shiver, desperately needing the heating on.

“Oh, okay. Uh, have fun, I guess. I’m sure I’ll undoubtedly and annoyingly see you when you get back.” He replies, converting the call to hands-free so he could get out of the car park.

“Of course… oh, I’m going to Oxford University when I’m away to visit some sponsors, so I’ll tell Maria you said hi?”  
The lecturer Maria Hill was the only person that Tony had ever met who could match him for confidence and iciness. He liked her.

“Make sure you do, and tell her I’ll be over for dinner when I can. Enjoy England.”

The call disconnects as Tony speeds through a tunnel. He swears loudly and ends the call with a sharp jab of his right hand. In most places, nobody would be on the roads at 2 am but this was New York, so of course the whole city was going out and about. His fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel of his brand new Jaguar, a present to himself for taking Steve down a peg or two at a particularly volatile conference.

It takes him forty minutes longer than normal to get home but eventually he arrives, the immense twelve bedroom mansion looming above the car in plumes. Everything was clinically perfect; the best gardeners, the best cleaners, the best architects and decorators… only the best for Tony Stark and his family. Being Howard’s son may have come at a price, but thank god he got a hefty inheritance. 

It’s completely silent and fucking freezing when he lets himself in, toying off his shoes to pad gently across the carpets and straight up to bed. The sheets are even colder- freshly changed- when he slides between them and shivers involuntarily even though there’s a $500 dollar blanket wrapped around his small body. Not for the first time, he wished that there was somebody there to share the cold bed with.

But, alas, Tony was alone tonight.

He eventually dropped off into a light sleep, ready to do it all again tomorrow.

-

\+ 0 weeks

In all fairness, the ten weeks had flown by. Tony slides into the car with as much elegance as he could muster, being careful not to catch his suit on the door.

“Ready?” Nat tilts her head to the side when he’s slammed the door shut and Tony exhales, breath rushing between his teeth like a breeze.

“Nope.”

Nat just nods and goes back to angrily typing on her phone; folders piled high on her knees. Her leather jacket was casually draped around her shoulders and Tony frowns. Didn’t Bruce have that exact brand of jacket once…?

“Everyone’s in place.” His bodyguard, Vision, calls out from the front seat, twisting his body round to show Tony an encouraging smile. This doesn’t do anything to lessen the tidal waves in Tony’s stomach. “Pepper’s taken over one of the back rooms at the centre.”

“How was your night?” Nat asks innocently, clearly attempting small talk to keep Tony calm.

He turns to her with a cheeky smile and raises one eyebrow suggestively. 

“Eww!” Nat practically shouts; her body convulsing as she presses up against the car door. “Forget I asked! I don’t want to know, ew, oh my god...”

“Excuse me,” his arms cross as she continues to curse. “What is wrong with my sex life-?”

“Everything!” The younger woman yelps, a massive grin erupting on her features at Tony’s angry façade. “You’re my boss; I don’t want to hear about anything to do with your midnight activities.”

“Rude.” Tony sniffs and swivels to stare out of the window at New York rushing past. “I thought we were friends.”

Nat visibly softens. “We are friends.”

“You should be used to Tony’s over-sharing by now Nat…” Vision pipes up unhelpfully from the front seat as Tony dissolves into laughter.

“Oh believe me, that’s not oversharing. Oversharing would be to-”

The driver winces as Nat screeches loudly, jamming her fingers into her ears to escape Tony’s verbal onslaught. Vision just cackles good-naturedly and sets a mental reminder to wash his ears out with bleach after the conference.

After thirty minutes of traffic (which they had scheduled for so Tony wasn’t having a panic attack) the driver announced that they were turning into the road. The whole street was lined with armed police guards, everyone alert for possible political revolts. Nat mutters something about the sight being encouraging and Vision pats his pockets to make sure he had his gun, just in case.

“Don’t mess this up.” Nat warns him with a glare as the car pulls up alongside the venue, spiralling marble steps leading up to the conference building; photographers flashing like migraines on all sides. “I can’t be dealing with another PR crisis again- not after the last one.”

“We don’t talk about the January CNN debacle,” Tony reminds her with a wink and straightens his collar. “Don’t worry about it babe. If he can’t handle my fucking hotness and gets tongue tied then that’s not my fault.”

“Tony!” His PR coordinator yells as Vision opens Tony’s door with a flourish; rapid fire of camera flashes lighting up the car. Tony just smirks and exits the car with all the grace he can muster, saluting at the cameras trained on him with one finger. He senses Nat growling behind him before the door is slammed shut and his driver whisks Nat off to meet with the rest of the team round the back. Vision keeps tight to his back as Tony saunters up the steps, stopping to engage with the prettier journalists on the way up.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp whistle behind him and Tony has to close his eyes in frustration. 

“It’s Bucky.” Vision whispers to him and Tony sighs heavily. He kisses the journalist he’s half-flirting with on the cheek in apology.

“Of course it is.”

Where Bucky Barnes was, Steve Rogers normally followed.

The man himself promenades up the marble steps behind Bucky with a shit-eating grin that Tony recognises all too well. His aviator sunglasses and blue tux makes him look like an obnoxious actor and Tony has to bite his lip to stop him from shouting this very fact out loud in front of hundreds of people.

“Hey sweetheart!” Tony calls half-ironically and waves, knowing full well that journalists were already recording their combined entrances. “That suit looks good on you. Is it mine?”

Steve chuckles and removes his sunglasses to peer over at the other man. “You wish, Stark.”

Vision grunts behind him as a warning and Tony fights the urge to roll his eyes. Steve picks up on this as well and nods at his bodyguard.

“Buck, can you and Vision give us a minute?” He enquires as Tony’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“In front of all these people?” 

Heat radiates down on the cluster from the flashing bulbs, creating plumes of hot air that spiral through Tony’s jacket. Steve shifts his weight to his other foot with a sigh.

“I’m not gonna attack you in front of these people, Tony.” The blonde man snorts as Bucky gestures to Vision to grant their wishes. “I’ll wait until we are alone, in a dark room, to rip your tongue out.”

“Fuck, baby.” Tony swallows and moves closer to Steve so they’re a whisper apart. Steve’s eyes are already brimming with irritation and Tony bites his lip mischievously. “You promise?”

“Down, boy.”

“I can sense Nat’s head exploding from here,” the billionaire smirks, desperately wanting to break the tension. “Better go in and kick your ass?”

Rhodey appears in Tony’s peripheral vision, and from the lines creviced into his forehead, he didn’t look impressed.

Steve scoffs and holds out his arm in a display of ironic politeness.

“After you, asshole.”

They regard each other for a moment; Tony spinning on his heels to run up the stairs, waving at the journalists in apology. Rhodey follows quickly and pounces on him when they were inside the centre- Steve’s best friend Sam Wilson leading him through a door to the left. 

“You are playing with fire.” His oldest and closest friend smacks him on the collarbone and Tony laughs, his hand immediately going to rub his shoulder.

“Oh god, Rhodes, relax.” Tony snorts incredulously as they briskly march across the stone-floored reception, the hideous room looking like something from Harry Potter; Rhodey tells Tony to shut up when the latter voices this to him. Unsurprisingly, the two men argue all the way to the back room his party had taken over, with Pepper set up on comms to direct Tony through the conference. She clips Tony round the ear when Rhodey grasses on him about his display with Steve and jams an earpiece into his ear. 

“Just treat this like a normal question and answer.” Nat shrugs when she’s clipping a red rosette to Tony’s suit. T’Challa hands him the notes he’d compiled with some impactful sentences to try out with a knowing smile.

“Except, this is the last chance you have to make sure you come across as planned.” T’Challa informs him and pretends to ignore the shocked look on Tony’s face. “No pressure.”

Apprehension surges through Tony’s gut like a tsunami and it shreds his lungs of any oxygen.

“Thanks dude. I always appreciate your honesty.”

After Natasha’s only stabbed him twice with the rosette’s safety pin, Pepper checks that the comms are working and Peter helps Rhodey shove a muffin down Tony’s throat for substance. He nearly chokes, but the nausea demonstrating judo in his stomach calms slightly.

Tony Stark did not get nervous. He pissed people off like it was a sport and could make even the most confident person feel two foot tall with one look. Needless to say, anxiety was fluttering around the room like poisonous butterflies and Tony was looking for his bow and arrow.

“Remember, if it’s not on the sheet, don’t say it.” T’Challa barks at him when they are told they should go and sit at the panel and Tony openly rolls his eyes.

“I’ll literally have Nat next to me the entire time. The woman has sharp elbows.” He assures his speech writer with a clap on the back; T’Challa letting out a small ‘oof’ in response. 

The organisers had decided that the candidates were allowed two representatives to sit on the panel with them. They could aid by providing data sheets and voting information but were banned from speaking themselves while the conference was in session and Tony thanked every God that Nat and Vision were able to be there. Interestingly, the room falls silent when the three enter the stage to sit down on the panels; two tables opposite each other on a slight diagonal with a sea of hungry journalists swarming out from the edge. Cameras start to click vigorously as Tony takes his seat and sends Steve a slight nod. The Associates were represented by Clint, Steve’s version of Nat, and Wanda who was their strategist. Wanda grins at Tony as she shuffles her papers, a smile that Tony happily returns. He’d always liked her.

“Good evening.” A young woman struts out onto the stage and gracefully lowers herself onto a stool between the two tables, microphone in hand. Her authority sends a hush throughout the room and the flashes lessen. “I am Sienna Rees, a political critic, and I warmly welcome you all to the Strike Conference Centre today for the annual electorate debate. Today, you have the final opportunity to question our front running candidates on any issue before the election in four days time.”

Tony takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together, knowing that the confident Mr Stark needed to make an entrance. 

“We have Mr Tony Stark who is running for The Avengers.” Sienna announces and pauses for a wave of applause to echo around the room. “And we have The Associates leader, Mr Steve Rogers.” Again, the room claps- both praise sounding exactly the same. Brilliant.

“Gentlemen, the conference is now yours.” Sienna nods and turns to the rabble. “I invite the floor to pose questions.”

A tattooed, warm-eyed man with blue hair steps up to the secondary microphone first, a large queue already forming behind him.

“Uh, yeah, hi… I’m from TMZ- my name’s Matt. I would like to ask Mr Rogers what he wants to achieve through his weaponry management scheme?” He steps away as if waiting for an answer.

Steve clears his throat before looking Matt dead in the eyes.

“My family are veterans going back decades. The weapons they used for war belong exactly there: a war field. The WMS campaign would set out to re-evaluate the weapons we have in America, whether they be for personal use, consumerism or the weapons belonging to our secret service. If we want to be the most powerful country in the world, it is imperative that we don’t risk ruining everything from the inside.” This sets a murmur throughout the crowd and Tony can’t help but roll his eyes. “We hope that this will set the ball rolling to decrease accidental deaths by weaponry per year by…” He looks to Wanda for support who points at something on a file. “43%.”

Some of the cameras begin flashing again as journalists check their recording devices to make sure they got the whole speech.

“Thank you.” Sienna states and cranes her head to see out into the lights. “Next?”

“Good evening gentlemen.” An older woman with heavy jewellery stands before them, her silver hair glinting under the harsh light. “Amanda from Fox; Mr Stark, do you believe in world peace?”

The question was vague and Tony frowns.

“That’s a very broad question, ma’am. I believe in world acceptance. Is that the same thing? Maybe someday it might be, or acceptance will lead to peace. I don’t know; there’s only so much one man can do. Why don’t we tackle America first, and then move on globally?”

Amanda purses her lips as someone cheers but then she nods and moves away.

Nat sends him an encouraging glance as the next person moves to the microphone. This time, a young woman who looks barely out of her teens stares up at them.

“Mr Stark, you have often voiced your support for the technological progression of AI…” She starts and immediately Tony’s blood runs cold. Steve stiffens from the other table and Nat sends an agitated glance at Clint. This was something they most definitely did not agree on. “So I was just wondering what place you actually see these advances having in our country?”

Oh, shit.

“Um,” he begins unconvincingly and shoots a glance at Steve, who’s clenching his fists under the table. “I have always expressed an interest in technological advances; my father was a scientist so it’s always been engrained in my background. AI is a highly fascinating concept and I can easily see it having a major effect on our country’s defence mechanisms.”

“Defence?” Steve snorts and Tony’s stomach drops. “Your father worked for a weapons company, Stark. Who says you won’t use AI as an attack against other countries if you get Presidency?”

The girl who asked the question steps back, a pleased smile lurching to her lips. Tony grinds his teeth together and desperately wants to launch himself at her.

“So what would you do with AI? Capitalise on it and sell the technology to other continents to improve the country’s economy? That doesn’t make you any better than my father.”

Wanda’s mouth drops open, Steve’s nostrils flaring in fury.

“Mr Stark, even the notion that you are comparing me to him is-”

“Captain America: doesn’t give two shits about the borders, just what’s in his pocket.” Tony says dramatically and splays his hands out like a Broadway director.

“Watch your language!” Pepper hisses loudly in his ear but Tony ignores her. He feels Nat kick him sharply under the table with her heel.

“Gentlemen, please.” Sienna booms in disappointment. “Let’s stick to the matter in hand shall we?”

Neither man pays her any attention. Instead, they stare each other down, words of indescribable pain on their tongues.

“As President, I would do my job properly, which would be to responsibly monitor scientific technology and make sure it is being used in the correct way.” Steve replies, in the most horrendously low voice Tony has ever heard.

“You couldn’t monitor how green grass is,” Tony spits, anger crawling up his spine. Steve just scoffs and opens his mouth to launch an attack but Tony cuts him off. “Surely this proves who the better candidate for the job is?”

Sienna interrupts them with a panicked tone. “Let’s not make this personal-”

“You’re arrogant, cocky, blind-sighted, selfish…” Steve snaps but Tony just shakes his head with a hollow laugh.

“God,” he mumbles, loudly enough for the journalists to hear. “I can’t stand you.”

“You can’t stand me?” Steve hoarsely yells at Tony, his eyes positively burning with hatred- fire literally flickering in his baby blue orbs. “That’s not what you said when we were fucking in our bed last night!”

All the breath rushes out of Tony’s lungs as he chokes on air. Someone inhales sharply in the audience as everyone falls deathly silent, shock resonating throughout the room like smoke. Nobody on the panel speaks; attention firmly on the pair of men breathing heavily through the astonishment.

The journalists blink at them blankly for a heartbeat, two.

Clint clears his throat from the end of the table and turns to look at a dumbstruck Tony.

“Well,” he sounds like he’s about to start laughing, “that was unexpected?”

Tony’s gaze is firmly on Steve; his mouth hanging slightly open as the politician surveys the silent room with a look of complete and utter panic.

“That wasn’t part of the plan.” Pepper deadpans over comms but all Tony can focus on is the way Steve’s jaw muscles are twitching and he knows what normally follows.

“Fuck it.” He whispers to himself and Pepper, jumping up in his seat to hold his hands out to the frozen room as people start to shift. “Thank you for your attention but this press conference is now over.”

The rest of them pick up on the urgency in his voice as the shock wears off the journalists and they rise up together with flashing lights and screams of more questions. Natasha grabs Steve by the wrist and roughly hauls him off the seat, Clint coming up behind to place a large hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and shove him roughly towards the exit. Tony follows closely, his heart beating out of his chest. He involuntarily gasps and Vision looks over worriedly. 

Steve whirls to him when they are all safely backstage as the others come running, his lips worry bitten and face pale. “Tony-”

“Don’t.” He spits back and holds his hand out which immediately makes Steve snap his mouth shut. “What the fuck was that?”

The others shuffle around them awkwardly, not wanting to be in the room but also aware that security were hurriedly trying to remove them from the building without the paparazzi finding the exit.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“You never do!” Tony explodes and Natasha steps back with a wince. “You have just outed us to the world’s press!”

Something shifts in Steve’s eyes, the anger returning with a vengeance. His hands curl into fists; the room temperature plummeting, fire still crackling between them and warming the tension.

“Outed us? Outed…? Fucking hell, Tony! We’ve been married for eleven years! Don’t you think they should know by now?” The blonde man shouts, his voice vibrating off the walls as their friends cower into themselves. Tony snorts and turns away slightly to address his right-hand woman through their comms.

“Pep, you need to get me out of here, because I swear to god I’m gonna kill him.”

“Working on it.” Pepper’s stressed voice radiates through the earpiece, and then a softer: “Please don’t murder your husband the week before the election. I can’t be arsed with the paperwork, Tony.”

“Tony…” T’Challa mutters to him, placing a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony closes his eyes and wants to rip the red rosette from his suit and throw it in Steve’s face. What’s the point? Elections didn’t work if the two frontrunners were sleeping together, let alone in a committed relationship. 

Steve sidles into his eye-line: the man who was supposed to love him.

“You know how much this means to me.” Tony murmurs without giving him the satisfaction of eye contact and Steve visibly swallows.

“I’m still sorry.” He whispers back, tears clogging up his throat and marring his voice with hoarseness. 

“Our relationship, our marriage…” Tony falters then and shakes his head, Steve averting his gaze to the floor when Tony arches his back to face him. “That’s our thing. That’s just for us and our friends.” He waves a hand around at the rest of the room but everyone knows well enough to not intervene. “It was the only part of either of our personal lives that we’d managed to keep private. They believed that we were rivals, Steve, they believed that we hated each other and it made a fucking good election run.”

Steve opens his mouth but Tony cuts him off with a murderous glare.

“Don’t you dare bullshit me with the whole ‘Tony only cares about the PR stuff’ crap either. I care, fuck- I’m devastated about this, because it was the most special thing about me and I was protecting it. People can’t ruin something they don’t know about. Not if you keep a good enough secret.”

He trails off as Steve sighs shakily, still not looking at his husband. 

“Now those journalist assholes are going to rip apart our lives in an attempt to discover everything about our marriage.” Tony steps forward and jabs Steve firmly between the ribs. “And that’s on you.”

Never in his life had Tony felt so disappointed, so sick, so… so hurt.

“I’m gonna go home.” Tony finally whispers when they’ve been staring at each other for way too long, tangled feelings webbed between them like broken wires. “Give me a few hours, and then we’ll talk if I haven’t drunk myself to sleep.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Tony-”

“Nat?”

Nat nods at Tony shortly, her arms crossed tightly to her chest. “We’ll sort it. Do what you need to do.”

Knowing that the PR stuff would be taken care of, Tony walks out into the arms of the security, who manage to successfully slip him out of the building and deposit him in his car without anybody seeing. His driver sends him a worried look in the rear mirror but Tony ignores it, and desperately tries to ignore how blurred his vision was getting.

Thankfully, his driver realised that it was an emergency situation and drives like a maniac to get Tony back to the mansion safely.

As soon as Tony’s sock-clad feet hit the tiled floor in the kitchen, all energy dissipated from his body and he falls to the floor against a cupboard as his hands cup his mouth. Breathy sobs echo throughout the empty house, his shoulders making the counter shake with their trembling. Anger coursed through his veins but he was also exhausted and empty. Steve had ripped any chance of Presidency from his fingertips, as well as any hope for their marriage.

As Tony liked to say: Steve Rogers was an asshole.

Four glasses of whisky and a sluggish move to their shared workshop later, Steve’s shadow rose in the doorway, his keys swinging from his fingers.

“How much have you had?” He gestures at the whisky bottles and Tony snorts from his position reclined on a sofa.

“Not nearly enough to be looking at you.”

Steve sighs heavily, tear tracks still evident on his stupidly beautiful face. God, Tony hated him. He hated how much he loved the man.

“Don’t do this. We aren’t finished, not yet.”

Tony takes another sip of the drink and grimaces.

“With our jobs or our marriage?”

Steve clenches his chiselled jaw tightly and huffs under his breath. “Our dreams.”

There’s nothing else to do but laugh at this, which Tony does, the sound coming off hollow in the high room.

“Fucking hell, Steve.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” Steve suddenly snaps, his voice lowering a few octaves and raising in dynamics to something similar to a plane engine. “That I fucked up? Because I know, Tony. I know, okay, more than you think. I know I’ve put our campaigns behind by a few months and I know that you hate me right now, and I’m so sorry.” His voice trails off and he steels himself. Tony just blinks at him with every emotion the whisky had tried to burn bubbling to the surface.

“Steve, I can’t-”

“You care about me, right? You want us to work this out?” Steve tiptoes forward until he’s nothing but a foot away.

Tony’s eyes slip shut and he uses every fibre of his being to stop the tears from falling. “I care about my career.”

Steve makes a blocked breathy sound before visibly steeling himself to look Tony dead in the eyes; the eyes that Tony fell in love with.

“But what comes first Tony? Your career… or me?”

He knows he should bounce up and embrace his husband, tuck his head into his neck and tell him over and over again that he always comes first. He imagines himself snapping that Steve will always be his number one priority but the scene is forced and fading at the edges. It makes him feel sick.

Steve gasps tearfully and Tony puts his head in his hands. “What the fuck-”

“We haven’t had date night in over eighteen months.” Tony tells the floor through the shadowed bars of his fingers. “I can’t remember the last conversation we had that didn’t end with work. That sex last night felt like we were saying goodbye… it was… it wasn’t us, baby.”

He listens to the sound of his own breathing for a second before Steve’s in front of him on his knees and gently prying Tony’s hands away from his face.

“Look at me, no, look at me. I know lately we haven’t seen each other, but for fucks sake, we’re both running for Presidency! What part of your brain genuinely thought our marriage wouldn’t change under the weight of that?” Steve pleads with him, tears spiralling down his cheekbones to perch on his lips. Tony’s chest compresses once more. Is it possible to die from heartache?

“I guess I…” the words catch in his throat. “I thought we’d be okay. I had this vision that nothing would change.”

Steve shudders as he breathes in deeply, shooting Tony a teary grimace. “That’s not reality, Tony.”

Rain hammers down onto the building, the darkness of the night mirroring the void between the men.

“No,” Tony finally admits when the moon has stopped making beams on the floor. “I’m realising that now.”

“I love you.” Steve whispers and Tony sort-of moans and curls his fingers around the glass to stop them from reaching out for his husband. “Please don’t divorce me.”

“I love you too.” Tony replies without any hesitation, but the thought of Steve touching him right now makes the sickness rise up again. “But we can’t do this right now, baby. We’ve changed, what we are to each other has changed. It’s exhausting, hating you there and loving you here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Steve’s jaw starts to tremble again, his teeth biting into the soft plumpness of his lips angrily.

“What are you saying?”

“We need to fix the mess outside first.” Tony nods, his hands betraying him to slide under Steve’s chin to cradle his neck in his palm. “Then we fix us.”

\- 4 days

Steve and Tony stand either side of the electorate tribute, waiting in great anxiety to find out what the official result was and definitely not looking at each other. The votes had been counted, each state represented in colour-blue or red- on a large map overhanging on the furthest wall. As elections go, this one was unlike any other in US history; everyone was talking about it. 

The teams of people stood on either side of the vast stage had an idea about who’d won. It just needed to be confirmed.

An older man with a dash of greying hair stands up to the microphone and nods at the silent room.

“Good evening. It is my greatest pleasure to announce and confirm that the next President of the United States of America will be-”

Nobody dared move.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so... yeah. This. Started off as a fluffy oneshot and ended up being this over-6000 words piece of interest.
> 
> I'm still gonna start a series for it though, because I love writing about these two idiots!
> 
> Smash it a Kudos/comment if you enjoyed it! Or, just yell at me for getting US politics so wrong because I KNOW okay, I'm British sorry and Google wasn't very helpful. 
> 
> Love y'all :)


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